


Sam's

by MothMeetsFlame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Claiming, John can use him, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Top Sam, but he really belongs to Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: "For as long as they’ve been doing this, one thing has been abundantly clear. It doesn’t matter how often John sucks him, fucks him, uses him, or sells him. Dean is always Sam’s."





	Sam's

**Author's Note:**

> Totally a liar. I have a second fic to post. 
> 
> WARNING: It's too fucking late at night for me to be warning y'all of the sex stuffs in this fic. Read the tags, yo.

Oh god...

That's the first and last thought in Dean's mind when John thrusts inside him. After that, he's just a mix of sensation—action and reaction—without any cognitive thought process between.

His hips twitch back, angling instinctively while John's hands grab his hips. It should be Sammy—was  _ supposed _ to be Sammy—but his brother's on deck instead, fisting his cock an inch from Dean's face while Dean rocks back to meet the harsh slap of his father’s thrusts. 

It's so far from fair, Dean can't do more than whine at the thought of his brother's cock so close and too far at the same time. He's been hard since before they started, and there's no doubt with his blood-heavy cock dripping between his legs that he's desperate for it. 

“Fuck, Dean. It’s like you’re gagging for it.”

He practically is. Fuck, his skin is on fire—way too damn hot in the hotel room as far as he’s concerned—and John’s cock keeps hitting that spot inside him  _ juuuuuuust right _ . If only Sammy would shove his cock down Dean’s fucking throat, he would be gagging  _ on _ it instead. 

“ _ Sammy _ ...” Dean tries to beg, but his voice is haggard, too far gone to even speak properly. 

John’s right hand moves from Dean’s hip and presses against the back of his neck, pushing his chest to the mattress. Dean whines as his cheek touches the scratchy sheets, knowing that Sam’s cock is lost to him now. There’s no way Sam will be able to fuck his mouth now. 

But just as he’s lamenting the loss of Sam’s cock, John’s hips pick up speed, fucking him hard and fast. 

Dean’s eyelids flutter, his hips twitch, his prostate throbs as John’s cock spears it head on one thrust in four. It’s not enough for him to come—he wouldn’t be allowed to even if it were—but it feels so fucking good to be put to use. 

His father’s cock splits him open, fills him up, doesn’t give a damn about Dean’s pleasure. It just  _ takes _ , and Dean gets off on that more than he does any sort of physical stimulation. 

“You ready?” John grunts. 

Dean nods into the mattress, more than ready for what John’s about to do. 

“Good.” 

John’s thrusts become less predictable, shallow but more forceful as he loses control of the steady rhythm he’d set as he plowed Dean into the third-rate motel bed. Dean braces himself, fists his hands in the sheets beneath him, eyes flying open in shock when his brother’s hand grips his hair and pulls it back. 

Sam’s hazel eyes bore directly into his, making his cock twitch as his father releases inside him. If he could get any harder, he would, but his cock keeps leaking steadily beneath him just as it’s been doing for the last half hour that John’s played with him. 

Dean can feel the wetness spread around his father’s cock, can feel it drip from his hole down his scrotum. It tickles just slightly until John’s tongue goes to mop it up. 

John moans as his lips seal around Dean’s hole, stubble scratching the sensitive skin of Dean’s balls, red and heavy. 

“Dad, please,” Dean moans. Oh, god he needs to come. 

But Sam’s grip tightens in his hair.  “Nuh-uh,” he says, eyes intensifying as Dean’s wanton moans increase in volume under the ministrations of their father’s tongue. “You don’t get to come until I do.” 

Dean tries to glare—he’s sure he does, even if it’s not as convincing as he would have liked it to be—but his breathless voice belies his words. 

“No fair,” he pants. 

Sam grins wolfishly at him, showing more teeth than strictly necessary. Dean can hear the lapping of John’s tongue against his used hole, can feel his father’s come deep inside him, but none of that compares to the evil glint in his brother’s eye when he meets Dean’s gaze straight on and slides a finger into his mouth. 

Dean suckles instinctively, licking over the pad of Sam’s pinky and sealing his lips around the base. It’s a far cry from either of their cocks, but as far as Dean’s concerned, something is better than nothing, and it’s been a long while since he’s had one of them inside his mouth. 

If he’s lucky, maybe Sammy will let him fall asleep with his cock in his mouth. 

“Only if you’re good,” Sam replies, effectively reading his mind. 

Dean licks a stripe up the front of his finger in response—he can be a good boy when he wants. And if the reward is Sam’s cock then he’ll do practically anything to make sure his brother is happy with him. 

John presses one last kiss to Dean’s hole before pulling off completely. He pats Dean’s ass affectionately and leaves the room without another word, not stopping even long enough to grab a pair of pants to cover his flaccid cock. 

Dean shivers as he’s left alone with his brother. 

For as long as they’ve been doing this, one thing has been abundantly clear. It doesn’t matter how often John sucks him, fucks him, uses him, or sells him. Dean is  _ always _ Sam’s. 

Sam flips him onto his back and drapes his body over him. He’s close enough that Dean can feel the heat coming off of his bare chest, but far enough that none of his weight is on Dean, leaving him wanting just that much more pressure. 

Hazel eyes stare into his, and Dean swallows hard before Sam’s lips sink down to meet his. Dean and John never do this. John can use him—and fuck if Dean doesn’t get off on that fact—but only Sammy can kiss him like this, make him feel needed even as his hand circles around Dean’s waist to finger his used hole. 

Dean shivers at the touch, back arching, breath caught in his throat when Sam finds his prostate. 

“Fuck, Sammy.” 

Sam presses a kiss to the base of his throat, and Dean’s adam’s apple bobs under Sam’s lips as he swallows. 

“Mine.” 

“Yours,” Dean affirms. 

Sam’s fingers leave, but Dean’s rim flutters, wanting more. He parts his legs, cock leaking onto his stomach now that he’s on his back, asking silently for something he can never put into words. 

But it doesn’t matter that he can’t say it in any other way than the wanton sway of his hips and the pathetic whines that leave his throat at the thought of his brother breaching him, because Sam understands him. 

Sam grips the underside of Dean’s thighs and bends him in half until his knees touch his chest, cock bobbing just inches away from Dean’s hole. Dean can’t feel it but he knows it’s there. Thick and long and warm with blood and ready to fuck him any moment, Dean can  _ feel _ it. 

Tension fills his mind, anticipation killing him as he waits for the breach he knows is coming. 

The first touch is nothing more than a tease. It grazes his fucked-open hole, tapping lightly before pulling away. 

“ _ SammySammySammy, _ ” Dean can’t help but chant his name. He’s begging and he knows it, but he can’t stop when his hole is fluttering open and closed, just waiting to accept his brother’s cock. 

But Sammy’s cock means Sammy’s rules, and if Sam wants to tease him until the heavens part, he can do it, and Dean will let him. 

“So good, Dean,” Sam pants, thrusting his cock forward to slap against his hole again. 

Dean moans. “ _ Please _ .” 

“You want it, don’t you.” 

“Yes… Yes please, Sammy.” 

“Who do you belong to, Dean?” 

“You— _ fuck, Sammy _ —always you. Please.” 

“So good.” 

Sam drops one of his legs in favor of guiding his cock to Dean’s hole. With a single thrust, he sheaths himself inside his brother.

Dean never fails to feel the stretch of his brother’s cock, and this time is no different. 

Dean screams, his spine tensing as his insides part to accommodate Sam’s substantial length. His father had done more than a thorough job opening him up, but that doesn’t mean much when Sam has about three inches and twice the girth on him. 

Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist and pulls him in closer, tries to hold him still inside, but Sam doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t slow. 

He reaches down and disengages Dean’s legs, lifts one until it’s tucked right up into his chest and lets loose, thrusting into him like a madman. Dean’s entire body clenches under the onslaught of Sam’s thrusts, unable to relax as his brother’s impossibly large cock splits him open. 

Without any doubt in his mind, Dean knows he’s going to feel it for days. Hell, maybe even a week. 

He’ll feel Sam’s cock thrusting into him when he sits. 

He’ll feel Sam’s cock angling to pound into his prostate when he leans up against Baby after a Hunt. 

He’ll feel Sam’s cock forcing its way inside him, deeper than anything should be able to reach, when he walks, when he talks, when he makes any movement at all because Dean will always ache for Sam’s cock. 

And if the aching weren’t an echo of Sam fucking him deep and fast at a no-tell motel in Bumfuck, Michigan, then the aching will come from a need to feel Sam inside him again, forcing him open and taking everything Dean willingly gives his brother. 

Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he screams his release, screams the only thing he  _ can _ scream with his brother mercilessly pounding into him—one word that busts from his chest as he coats himself with his own come. 

“SAAAMM!” 

Sam’s thrusts become erratic, harder and faster, and Dean can’t follow them in the haze of the afterglow that threatens to pull him under into blissful darkness. 

“Dean, fuck.” 

Calloused hands clench around Dean’s thighs and force him to fold even further in on himself. Bruises will form there, Dean knows—just another thing for him to feel. 

The last thing Dean is aware of before he slips into unconsciousness is Sam’s deep grunt and a warm wetness inside him. 


End file.
